


The Background

by prismatic_static



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Law being an obsessive disaster gay Coralover, M/M, Masturbation, Oneshot, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 20:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17270255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismatic_static/pseuds/prismatic_static
Summary: Law jerks it to Cora-san on Punk Hazard.





	The Background

There is always snow on this side of the island, great drifts of it, shaped by icy wind.  Sometimes that wind howls the cries of children whose parents are gone; whose bodies deteriorate with poison.  (Because the past always catches him, easily.)  He is isolated now, just as then: surrounded by monsters and liars, their eyes so unkind.  Unkind as he is.

And he is still alone.

He’s fully aware of his motivations.  This doesn’t happen often.  But he’s reached his limit.  This is the best he can do.  Because he will never get what he really wants.  (A joke: ever thinking he could.)

He’s in a storage cellar, miles from the main compound.  It hadn’t been opened in years before he happened upon it in his wanderings.  Now he’s ensured it’s frozen shut, covered by snow – only he can get in, or out, thanks to his powers.  The harpy never finds him here.  Can’t giggle at him behind one wing, or challenge him with her unblinking predator eyes, or zero in on him as if he’s something she could snatch with her talons.  The very talons he gave her.

But his hate hardly matters now, hidden as he is.  Under the ground, beneath layers of frost, insulated on all sides.  It isn’t so cold in this, the final Circle.  Mild enough that he can remove his coat and use it as a pallet, though the rest of his clothes must stay on.  Kikoku leans against the wall, near enough to grab in a half-second. 

 And he’s prepared, with energy to teleport, to cleave, to fight.  So he is secure enough, for the moment.

No one can see this.  He doesn’t want anyone to ever see this.  He doesn’t want to see this.  He lies in the dark.  He closes his eyes.  He focuses.  There is only one thing he wants to see.  

(Something he’ll never see again.)

The air pricks his skin.  He hears his own breathing.  His fingers drag down his abdomen, he strokes himself through his jeans, unzips the fly —

He hates this.

His face is warm.  He curves inward, turned to his side, as if there were someone there to curl around.  His other hand slips beneath his sweater.  Avoids the cavity where his heart should be; pretends it’s still in his chest, not held hostage miles away.  He traces the lines permanently marked into his skin, etched like summoning runes.  But even his unnatural abilities can’t work that kind of magic.

He grits his teeth.  Strokes himself.  And — hidden by the steel walls of this small room, in the dark, beneath a barrier of snow – he imagines…

… A man has fallen to the floor, gangly scarred limbs spread wide, coat of black feathers around his shoulders like an angel’s charred wings.  A cigarette falls from this man’s mouth, skids across the metal floor.  Law can smell it as it burns out some feet away.  The man grumbles, moves to retrieve it.

Law grabs his arm to stop him.  Breathes out, “Cora-san.”  And the man looks at him, as if surprised.

So beautiful: gold hair falling into ochre eyes, an indigo mark beneath one.  Lips red as fresh blood.  Aquiline nose.  The curve of his jaw, the slant of his cheeks, the unprotected flesh of his throat.  Law aches for it all.

And Cora-san stares straight back into his face, bemused and absolutely unmalicious.  "Law,“ he says, voice deep and rough after years of cigarettes, crackling with disuse, relaying nothing but affection.

(The very affection that has sustained Law all these years.  The affection twisted as he aged, growing inside him with every sign he’d become a man.  The affection he summoned in his most desperate, private moments, that had touched him with a gentleness and purity he grasped at and clung to and greedily tried to keep alive, to absorb into his skin and then deeper still —

_Hey, Law, I love you —_

That feeling he wants – he wants it back, more than anything — he wants that person back — that person he —)

His fingers trail down Cora-san’s arm to the wrist.  Law guides Cora-san’s hands beneath his sweater.  So Cora-san can feel how rapidly Law’s heart beats.  How it strains for him.  Law reaches to him in turn, parts the seam of black feathers, to find there is nothing underneath but pure, blessedly naked Cora-san.  And he touches, reaches down, and down, and as he does he convinces himself: this is not his own flesh.  Because his skin is smooth and monochromatic (as he would’ve never expected in his childhood), marred only by what he’s inked into it.  The skin he feels now is interrupted by subtle dips and hard knots and puckered slashes, remnants of stitches, a constellation of damage none other could match –

His breath catches with this nearness.  He could die of this feeling.  (He wants to.)

Cora-san gasps quietly when Law’s hands run across his pale chest, fingers dipping into every groove, down against his ribs.  Beneath his ribs.  No move is made to stop Law as he slides his palm over Cora-san’s firm, vulnerable belly.  As he goes lower still.

Cora-san accepts him.

(Law wonders who else in the world could know what Cora-san’s skin felt like.  If they had explored every scar.

He meets this idea with a childish, murderous fury (so terribly familiar).  He wants to think it never happened — Cora-san went to heaven pure as the day he came into the world.  Law touches him now, he gasps and shivers, they are new to each other…)

His hips jerk.  He feels it.  Can hear his own heavy breathing, his heartbeat in his ears, a steady, guiding rhythm like  _Co-ra-san, Co-ra-san._

He wants to take Cora-san’s cock in his mouth. He has no shame.  He wants to taste all of Cora-san.  Drink him down, become intoxicated. (Lose himself and forget.)

Law tongues Cora-san’s body, wet trail left on miraculous skin.  Marveling at the flesh and bone.  Breathes in at the blond curls near the root – Cora-san is embarrassed but Law doesn’t stop; Cora-san’s cock is clean and delicious and Law takes it down the same way he takes everything else he needs and Cora-san’s moans are adorable, though they are scratchy, burnt by years of cigarettes, which Law can still smell: Cora-san always smells like tobacco, like ash – like blood and snow –

Memories threaten to rear up – Law focuses on Cora-san’s closed eyes, fluttering lids, golden lashes rimmed with black.  Scarlet lips parted slightly as he pants, sighs, fingers latticed through Law’s hair, pulling slightly, inadvertently, pleasantly.  A jerk of the hips.  A gratifying pressure at the back of Law’s throat.

(Cora-san’s skin is flushed and warm.  Cora-san is alive.  Cora-san is happy.  Cora-san doesn’t hate him.)

Cora-san spunks in his mouth, gasps out "Law,” as he takes it all, smoky and saltine, acrid even, but Law doesn’t want to waste a drop.  (He wants all of Cora-san inside him.  He wants to be inside.  He wants to stitch the two of them together, after he cuts them both apart and reorders their limbs, stacked together as a single being that will never feel bereft and desolate, lonely and desperate, anymore – ever again –)

He looks up.  Doesn’t bother to wipe his mouth.  Wants the taste to stay, the heat to stay, wants everything to stay –

Cora-san looks right at him, breaths deep, flushed cheeks, impossibly divine.  Expression nearly bewildered, hazy and thrown-off, sweet lips slightly parted  –

And Law hears his own voice as if from a distance, in pathetic supplication: “Cora-san, touch me,  _please._ ”

A moment of hesitation.  And then Cora-san gently takes Law’s face in his hands.  Kisses him, eyes closed, their lips softly connected.

Law is thrilled.  Too thrilled to react, for a moment.  Then he kisses back – even though his tongue has just been on Cora-san’s cock, Cora-san is letting it in his mouth.  He sweeps hair back from Cora-san’s face to put his hand against his cheek, draw him in, kiss him so hard he can’t breathe, he’s getting dizzy –

And Cora-san lets him.  Cora-san reciprocates, parted lips letting Law inside; opens to it as Law crushes him close, grasps at his back.

(He shivers even though it’s so warm next to Cora-san.)

He’s lost to this, heart beating faster still, racing in time with his thoughts:  _Corasan Corasan Corasan…_

He loves this.

He gropes for Cora-san’s chest, his heartbeat…can’t find it.

Only because they are so close together, he tells himself.  Can’t tell one from the other.

And when he draws back it’s to breathe in again and say the things he never got to say, because he was foolish. (“I love you, Cora-san…Cora-san, I love you…”)

He realizes he is crying; can’t stop it.  Everything contracts in his core, his whole body pulled toward one point — an image of Cora-san, smiling at him, so happy, so blessedly alive, saying  _Law_ with an affection he’s never heard since.

(Because in his fantasies Cora-san cares about this, too; in his fantasies Cora-san touches his face, says everything’s alright, that he’s happy to be near Law, even now, and smiles –

Yes, that smile —

The most beautiful smile Law’s ever seen —

Never saw Cora-san smile that way for anybody else —

That finally does it, that trips the wire, and he gasps, thrashes, releases —)

He whimpers as he comes.  Hears how pathetic he sounds.

Pathetic because his imagination fails him.  Because he is cold, curled around nothing, his own seed dirtying his own hands.  His entire body shakes.  His heart is still gone.

And he is still alone.


End file.
